


and some call us fools

by Brightblack



Category: The Magnus Archives (Podcast)
Genre: A single bad pun, Drinking, Fluff, Gen, M/M, Mentions of alcohol, Scottish Honeymoon, mentions of Irn-Bru, pub trivia, we all know that Jon would be into trivia
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-14
Updated: 2020-03-14
Packaged: 2021-03-01 01:07:54
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,128
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23146708
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Brightblack/pseuds/Brightblack
Summary: There isn't much to do at the safe house, so what better than to go down to the village pub and play some trivia?Or, Martin and Jon get to have a nice evening.
Relationships: Martin Blackwood & Jonathan Sims, Martin Blackwood/Jonathan Sims
Comments: 28
Kudos: 316





	and some call us fools

It’s a week into their stay at the safe house, and Martin thinks Jon is going a bit stir-crazy. 

To be fair, he probably is too, but Jon shows it more, restlessly pacing, on edge and fidgeting with whatever he picks up. It makes sense, really. They’ve gone from working at the Institute, in near constant danger and stress, to having nothing to do but read and wander around the Scottish countryside. Even if they hadn’t basically fled up here, the change from London to the outskirts of a tiny town still would have taken some adjustment. 

So Martin understands why he and Jon feel the way they do, but it doesn’t mean he has to like it. Especially not when there’s a voice whispering that maybe it’s not just the house that Jon’s getting bored of, maybe Jon is wishing he wasn’t here, or here alone, or… He knows that’s not the case, Jon’s been nothing but concerned and caring to Martin since they arrived, in his own Jon-like way, but Martin still can’t help feeling like there’s something he should do. 

The flyer he spots down in the village while getting groceries comes as a welcome relief, then. PUB TRIVIA, it’s emblazoned, with the name of a local pub at the bottom and the promise of “fantastic prizes”. Martin takes a picture of the flyer with his phone, and returns home laden with groceries to find Jon scrubbing down the kitchen, though it’s already fairly clean. 

“Hey,” Martin greets him cautiously, but Jon still jumps a little as he turns, and Martin isn’t sure if that’s because Jon is high-strung or because Martin still moves more quietly than he used to. 

Jon’s smile when he sees him, small but sincere, reassures Martin that it’s ok, and he thrusts a bag of groceries at him. “Here, help me put these away before you scrub a hole in the counter.” 

Jon accepts the bag with only a slight eye roll, and they work in companionable silence until Martin remembers the flyer.

“Jon?”

“Hmm?”

“I saw that they’re doing trivia down at the pub in the village tonight, and I was, was wondering if you’d like to go?” He finds himself unexpectedly nervous as he asks. Even though he’s in part doing this for Jon, it still sort of feels like an imposition, which is ridiculous. Jon’s gone with him to get lunch, gone with the rest of the archive staff to get drinks, and Martin’s almost certain that if there was one thing Jon would enjoy doing in a pub setting it would be trivia. 

Jon tilts his head, appearing to mull it over. Martin swears he can almost see him weighing the pros and cons in his head.

“Alright,” he finally says, “Why not?”

They spend the rest of the afternoon peacefully, but come the evening Martin can see Jon getting progressively more worked up. He changes his shirt twice, even though he’d only brought a handful up, and attempts to get his hair to lie flat for a solid ten minutes before Martin pulls him away. 

“What are you fussing about? You look great, “ Martin says, before he can really stop and think, and then goes pink. 

Jon glances away for a moment, before clearing his throat and saying: “You look good, too,” his eyes a little smug as Martin blushes more. Martin manages not to roll his eyes before turning toward the door.

“So we both look good, now can we go?”

“Alright,” Jon grumbles, and they set off down towards the village.

It’s a beautiful evening for a walk, the air crisp and the sky going dusky pinks and purples. The lights of the village are barely starting to glow against the hillside, and it has the look of something out of a postcard. Martin takes a deep breath of the fresh air, and then glances over, to find Jon already looking at him.

“I think we ought to make some ground rules,” Jon says, looking serious.

Not sure as to where this is going, Martin just says: “Oh?”

“Yes. I mean, first of all, I assume I shouldn’t use the power of the Beholding for something like pub trivia…”

Martin snorts. “No, Jon, definitely not. That’s cheating!”

“Oh, you’re no fun,” he sighs, but Martin can see the hint of a smile tugging at his mouth. 

“What else?” Martin asks after a moment, when it’s clear Jon has more to say but doesn’t.

Jon fiddles with the end of his sleeve, looking away from him and down toward the village, the houses growing larger with every step. 

“I may…I may have to leave. If there’s a, a person in there, who has a statement, I’m just not sure I…” He trails off, still looking fixedly away from Martin.

“Oh, right,” says Martin, determined not to sound judgemental or overly concerned. Jon’s been doing, well, maybe not fine, but ok, for a while now, and he doubts in a tiny village like this one there’d be much chance of a statement anyhow. He says as much to Jon, hoping he sounds reassuring, but Jon just shrugs.

“There was one statement about the Slaughter, that was located in a village, similar to this one-quite brutal really. Anyway-“ he shakes his head and gives Martin a quick glance. “I just thought I should let you know.”

“O-of course,” Martin says. “Thank you.”

Jon gives an awkward, almost-laugh. “Well, I shouldn’t like you to see me rushing out of there and think I was being scared off by pub trivia,” 

“Perish the thought,” says Martin, and then they’re at the village.

They locate the pub in no time-in a place this small, it really isn’t hard, and there’s a steady stream of people going in and out. 

Martin is unprepared for the din that greets him when he pushes the door open-it’s shockingly loud after the peaceful evening outside, and from his perspective the pub seems crowded to bursting. It’s a roar of human sounds, of life, of heat, and it keeps him pinned to the floor until Jon takes him gently by the wrist and leads him to a table in the corner, away from most of the people and noises.

“Stay here,” he says, speaking up a little above the background noise, and Martin feels like every word is slower than usual entering his brain. “I’ll get us some drinks, ok?” Jon holds up his phone. “I’ve got my phone right here, so just text if you need to.”

Martin nods, and whatever look he has on his face seems to reassure Jon a little, enough that he gives Martin a swift pat on the arm and then disappears into the crowd.

Martin takes a few deep breaths and keeps his eyes focused on the table in front of him. It’s not that bad, really, it’s just…a lot, after days and days of brief jaunts to the grocery being his only human contact apart from Jon. The noise is already becoming more manageable, less intense, and after another moment he’s able to look up, actually take in the pub. 

It’s nice, despite being crowded, quaint in a way that still feels sincere, not like it’s being put-on for clueless tourists. There’s the bar itself, where Jon has disappeared, and tables all around the outside, a raised area that looks like it could be used for a stage. The sheer normalcy of it feels reassuring, and the people stop feeling oppressive and more just loud and tipsy. By the time Jon returns, Martin is feeling almost normal, but Jon still looks at him a little worriedly.

“Is this alright? I should have asked if you wanted to stay here, we could have gone outside, I just didn’t want to block the door, and then-“ Martin cuts him off.

“It’s alright, Jon. Just was a little…much, when we first got in. I’m-it’s fine now, though.” Then he sees what Jon brought. “What on earth?”

“The bartender made me take them,” Jon grumbles. “Apparently she had heard about the two English fellows and decided that we needed a welcome present.”

Martin looks down at the two orange bottles next to their other drinks. “I don’t actually think I’ve had Irn-Bru before, have you?”

Jon shakes his head. “I suppose it will keep us hydrated.” He slides one across to Martin, who cracks his open and takes a cautious slip. 

“It’s not…bad, really?” says Martin, after a moment.

“Well, after such a glowing report, “ says Jon, opening his own. There’s a long moment where he appears to be tasting it the way a sommelier might, before saying: “Hmm. Tastes orange.” which makes Martin burst into giggles. 

Jon looks gratified at that, and is about to say something else, but at that moment someone hops up on the little stage with a microphone and calls “who here’s ready for some Trivia?”

The room erupts into cheers, and Martin smiles at Jon’s exasperated look. 

“I’ll need something stronger than Irn-Bru for this, “ he says, taking a pull from his other glass.

The MC, a short, excitable older man that reminds Martin a little uncomfortably of Simon Fairchild, hands out the trivia sheets. There’s numbered lines for each round, as the MC explains, with spots to write in the answers, and at the end of each turn they’re all totalled up. 

There’s space for a team name at the top, and Jon pushes the paper at Martin, telling him to write one in.

“Why me?”

“You write-poetry, and things, I’m sure you’re creative.” says Jon, and Martin decides not to tell him he hasn’t written anything for almost a year now. He doesn’t want to bring down the mood. Instead, he pencils in the first thing he thinks of, then passes it up to the MC, not letting Jon see. 

This leads to Jon choking on his drink a moment later, when it’s announced: “-and finally, we have the Beer Holders, all the way up from London!” 

Jon stifles another cough and glares at Martin. “Really? A pun that bad, and no one else is going to know what it means,” he grumbles, but there’s a twitch of amusement at his mouth. 

Martin holds up his hands. “Hey, if you didn’t want a bad pun, you shouldn’t have put me in charge of team names.”

“I’ll bear that in mind.” 

The MC confirms that everyone who wants to play is ready, and then they start.

To Martin’s complete lack of surprise, Jon is very good at trivia. It only takes a few questions for him to start getting competitive, which is oddly endearing. 

“Blood,” he mutters to himself, scribbling down the answer to “A phlebotomist extracts what from the human body?”, his hair flopping into his eyes, and Martin has to resist the urge to push it back for him.

He also knows how many letters are in the German alphabet (30), and who invented the word Pandemonium (John Milton, apparently). Martin would suspect him of using the Beholding’s power, except Jon’s already promised he wouldn’t, and he misses a few. Martin’s not half bad himself, filling in the gaps Jon lacks in pop culture and music (“that was obviously Beyonce, Jon!”) 

The one area they’re both hopeless in is current events. Martin manages to get a few that touch on climate news, glad his Extinction-related research can be useful for something, but apart from that neither have much of any idea of what’s been going on outside the Institute. 

“Wait, Brexit’s still happening? Christ.” says Jon, taking another drink, then looks helplessly at Martin for the answer to who Stefani Joanne Angelina Germanotta is. 

Martin writes down Lady Gaga, resisting the urge to comment that even he knew Brexit was ongoing, then hands their answer sheet to the MC coming by.

While the scores are being totalled up, Martin goes up to get another round. It’s not as crowded as it was, but there’s still plenty of people, and Martin resents that he still feels a little stifled by them. 

He heads back to their table, where Jon is listening with fierce concentration to the MC announce the current scores. He grins at Martin, and it transpires that they’re in second, right behind a grey haired couple a few tables down from them. They bounce from second to first and then to fourth in the following few turns, Martin steadily getting tipsier. He’s not a lightweight, but he can’t remember the last time he’s gone out drinking. It’s clear that Jon however, _is_ a bit of lightweight, growing flushed and losing some of the stiffness in his posture quickly, his formal tone softening.

Martin looks up from penciling the answer to what colour a giraffes’ tongue is to catch Jon staring at him, chin on his hand and a look that Martin can’t quite place on his face. 

“What-“ he begins, but then the MC comes by to take their answers. Jon takes the slip of paper from Martin, his hand lingering on Martin’s for a second, and Martin can feel heat in his face, his chest.

“What?” he says again, because Jon is still wearing the same expression . 

“You’re so smart,” he says, and Martin blinks. That was not what he was expecting, especially from Jon. 

“I mean, it’s just trivia,” he starts, dropping his eyes to the table and their half-empty drinks and rubbing the back of his neck. 

“No,” says Jon, almost comically serious, “not just trivia, you’re proper smart, Martin. You know-“ he waves his hand, a little wildly, “-all sorts of stuff.” He pauses. “You outsmarted Peter.”

 _Yes, and nearly ended up trapped in the Lonely for my trouble,_ Martin thinks, but the coldness behind that thought isn’t there, and he gives Jon a tentative grin. 

“I think I have to give you some credit for that.” He’s surprised they’re talking about what happened so casually, but everything suddenly feels lighter, safer than it did.

“Peter’s lucky he’s not playing us tonight,” Jon says, in his most ominous tones, and Martin snorts. 

“We are a formidable pair, aren’t we?” 

It seems to be true, as they come in first that round, to the good natured heckles from the crowd.

“It’s the English ones again!” someone calls, and Jon gives the room a slightly smug wave.

“Drinks on me this round, everyone,” Martin says quickly, speaking up to be heard above the noise, and is met with far warmer cheers. No point making enemies in a town this small.

“That’s going to be expensive,” says Jon, looking a little wide eyed at Martin. Martin just shrugs.

“Well, it’s actually Peter’s money, so I don’t really care.” 

It’s pleasantly ironic, in a way, using the money of an avatar of the Lonely to foster good will and connection in the easy way drinking does, and it’s well worth it to see the expression on Jon’s face as several people come up to them to clap them on the back and tell them they aren’t so bad, really. 

The rest of their time in the pub is a bit of a blur, if Martin’s being honest.

They play the final round of trivia, coming in second, and the pub starts to empty out.

The grey haired couple, who came in first, comes over to their table to chat, Jon sliding over close to Martin to make room for them. Joanne is a librarian, and Alfred a retired veterinarian, and they come down weekly to play trivia.

“Wow,” says Martin, thinking what it must be like to live here, know what you’re doing every week and who you’re going to see. Untangled from the archives, no thinking about the end of the world, just certainty and quiet. Jon presses his leg against Martin’s, and he feels a funny swooping feeling in his stomach.

“Have you boys been up here long?” asks Joanne, and Martin pulls his mind back to the conversation at hand. 

“Not too long-about a week now,” He says, and she nods, as though she finds his answer to her liking, and asks: “And what brings you up here? I can’t imagine it was to try and best us at trivia…”

“Ah-a holiday,” says Jon, just as Martin says, “up for work, actually.” They both look at each other for a second while Alfred and Joanne give them bemused looks, until Martin says: “I’m here for work, he’s just tagging along,” the lie spinning out smoothly. 

Jon nudges him, but apparently decides to let Martin do the talking. He tells the couple that he’s a research assistant (not too far off from the truth), for a small marketing company, and that he and Jon aren’t sure how long they’ll be up for, but they’ve enjoyed what they’ve seen so far. Alfred tells them of some hiking routes that have good scenery, and Joanne mentions that the library is having a book sale the next week. Jon sits up little at that, straightening from where he’s been slumping on Martin, and tells her they’ll be sure to make it.

Then they all realize how late it’s getting and Joanne and Alfred are saying goodnight, and he and Jon are left to collect themselves. Martin finds he doesn’t particularly want to move, especially with Jon leaning on him the way he has for the past hour or so, any trace of the reserve he usually has gone. He can’t say he doesn’t like it, but it does make it harder to slide to his feet, Jon muttering a protest into Martin’s shoulder. 

“C’mon,” says Martin, gently trying to maneuver Jon to his feet. “Let’s go home.” The words send a slight thrill through him, but Jon doesn’t appear to notice, staggering once upright and then grabbing onto Martin for support.

“Mm, my leg’s asleep,” he says by way of explanation, and Martin says “Right,” suppressing a smile. “Couldn’t have anything to do with the last several drinks, then?”

Jon elects to ignore the comment, leading the way to the door with only a slight stumble in his step, and Martin follows.

It had been dim evening when they first arrived at the pub, but now it’s properly dark out, only a few lights illuminating their way down the road. The night air is cool after the heat of the pub, and it clears some of the fuzziness from his head. They pass by some more shops and houses, walking close enough that their arms brush and Martin can feel Jon’s warmth.

“Oh!” Jon crumples to his knees so fast Martin worries for a second he's hurt, until a small dark shape comes trotting out of the shadows.

“Oh, you're very sweet, you are, and friendly too,” Jon is muttering, scratching the cat behind the ears. He looks up at Martin, face alight, and Martin feels his chest squeeze. He crouches down to join Jon, reaching out a tentative hand to give the cat a stroke. It arches its back against his hand, purring, its dark fur glossy and soft. 

The cat takes a few minutes of their ministrations before it decides it has had enough, and pads away back into the alley. Jon looks after it forlornly, staying crouched on the ground for another moment before standing. He offers a hand to Martin, and Martin, a little surprised, takes it, allowing himself to be pulled to his feet. 

“You’re much more, um-tactile, like this,” he says, switching cuddly for tactile at the last second. He’s not really sure why he said it, it just…slipped out.

Jon looks down, to where they’re still holding hands. “Is that-is that, I mean, is that alright, with you?”

“Oh, yeah-of course, Jon!” Martin gives his hands a squeeze, then pulls him gently closer. “I just was wondering…I didn’t want you to be uncomfortable with…with anything.”

Jon looks down at the ground for a second, then back up. “I promise I’m comfortable. It’s just easier, like this, it’s not so, ah, awkward? Although, maybe it is now…?” he trails off, but his grip doesn’t loosen in Martin’s, his eyes stay fixed and bright. 

“No, no, you’re fine,” Martin says, and they begin to walk again, but this time pressed against each other, arms over shoulders and around waists. It makes for a stumbling, slower sort of journey, but Martin wouldn’t let go for anything. Suddenly everything-the night air, with the scent of grass and the mountains, the warm fuzziness of drink, and Jon, breathing, next to him-it all washes over him and he feels almost giddy. 

He can’t-he can barely believe this is happening, when it comes right down to it. He’s spent so long whittling his wishes down into nothing, hoping just for survival, scarcely, that this warm and pleasant evening is overwhelming, and his eyes start to sting. 

Martin turns his head down, away from Jon, hoping he doesn’t notice, but even drunk and in the dark Jon is observant. 

“You’re crying,” He says, slowly, maybe a bit nervously, and when Martin says nothing, just gives a big sniff and continues to look away, he continues: “Martin, are you all right? Is it-is there something…” 

Jon starts to untangle his arm from Martin, turn to face him, and Martin doesn’t want that even more than he doesn’t want to be crying right now. 

“Sorry, it’s-I get like this sometimes, when I drink, bit soppy, I-“ he pauses, takes in a breath, “-it’s just that it’s been such a nice evening!” His voice wavers and cracks on the last word, and Jon puts a tentative hand back on his arm. 

“It really has, hasn’t it?’ Jon says, and Martin manages to look for a brief second to see Jon smiling almost tremulously up at him. “I didn’t expect, well, it’s not usually the sort of thing I go in for, but it’s been-good. Really good.”

Martin has to scoff a little at that, through his tears. “Not really the sort of thing you go in for? I saw you tonight, you were out for blood. ’Sides, trivia’s all weird facts-that’s exactly your thing.”

Jon makes a face at him, but he also looks relieved that Martin has mostly stopped crying. “Well. Yes. It was fun, and I should really thank you, for dragging me down here. I know I don’t always-don’t always show it, but I do appreciate it.” 

“Oh.” says Martin, not sure what to do with this softer, more expressive Jon, not sure if he’s going to start crying again. “Of course.” Then he thinks of something else. “And-it wasn’t too much for you, was it? Not having statements and stuff I mean.”

“No, I - there wasn’t anyone with a statement, and besides, I was distracted. The drinking might have helped a little too.” Jon shrugs. Martin wants to say something to that, but before he can, Jon continues: “Don’t worry, I won’t make a habit of it, it was just-easier. And Basira’s sending some up soon, so. Should be all right.” 

“Right. That’s-it’s good.” Martin rubs at his eyes with one hand. “Christ, it’s late. Are we lost?” 

“I think-I think it’s just over the next hill. We might have strayed off the path a bit though.”

“Ah.” That explains why Martin’s shoes have been getting so damp, and why the ground is so uneven. They walk on for a bit in a sleepy silence, only getting startled once by the dim and hulking form of a cow. After a few more minutes, they find the narrow trail again, Jon pulling Martin onto it triumphantly. He’s still a bit flushed, whether from the drinks or the cold night air, and Martin thinks he looks beautiful. 

There’s a light, glowing near the top of the rise, and Martin realizes it’s the safe house, nestled against the dark hillside. Jon starts talking, as they get nearer, about the library book sale, the merits of Irn-Bru, and what the trivia questions might be like next week. He pauses though, when Martin halts just outside the door, face silhouetted by the light they had left on. 

“What are you waiting for?” He asks, brow a little furrowed, and Martin sighs.

“I just-I want to remember-tonight. Everything.” 

Jon gives him a wry smile, lets him stay there a moment longer, a night breeze tugging at their hair and clothes, then puts out his hand. 

“Well, let’s go in. It’ll still be there tomorrow.”

Martin takes his hand, something more than warmth filling him as they go inside, start to get ready for bed. Tomorrow, he thinks. All of this-the village, the safe house, Jon-

It’ll all be there tomorrow.

**Author's Note:**

> This was written by someone who has done bar trivia once, and visited Scotland for two weeks, so I take full responsibility for any inaccuracies!


End file.
